


Fade Away

by MeteoraWrites



Series: BTHB - Sterek Series [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Blood, Depression, Graphic Description, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Self-Harm, Stiles Stilinski Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Suicidal Stiles Stilinski, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 17:32:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17944100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeteoraWrites/pseuds/MeteoraWrites
Summary: Stiles is so tired. Of feeling miserable and broken and hollow. He wants out and he decides to act on that urge.





	Fade Away

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING!!  
> DESCRIPTION OF SLITTING ONES WRITS!! DO NOT READ IF THIS IS A TRIGGER FOR YOU!
> 
> This is for my Suicide Attempt square on Bad Things Happen Bingo
> 
> Also loosely inspired by the song Fade Away by Breaking Benjamin

It’s much colder out than Stiles was expecting. Not that it’ll matter soon anyway. He’s out in the preserve, feet carrying him along one of the old hiking trails that isn’t really used anymore. It’s narrow, and there are roots sticking out of the ground everywhere. Nobody comes out here, that’s why he picked it. 

It also means it won’t be his dad that finds him first, he never is the one to sweep along this area when they have to search the preserve for a missing person. 

He left a note. 

One that won’t give any comfort. It just says I’m sorry in his messy scrawl. 

He is sorry. Sorry he couldn’t stop the Nogitsune. Sorry he couldn’t save any of the friends they lost. Sorry he let everyone down. 

More than that he just feels cold. All the time. Nothing feels good. Nothing feels real. He feels like he’s suffocating under the chilling numbness he feels. He’s sick of suffering through it. Sick of looking at his friends and seeing how broken they are because of him. 

He feels just as broken. Just as miserable. But at least they seem to have each other to lean on. They won’t miss him. Not really. He doesn’t need werewolf senses to know his presence isn’t something any of them enjoy or take comfort in anymore. 

He really did try to fight these feelings, at first. 

The fear and sorrow and then profound emptiness that came from not only losing so many people he cared about, but being the one to actually end their lives. Yes, he knows he was possessed, that it wasn’t really his fault or whatever. But that doesn’t change shit. He saw his friends die at his own hands. He saw himself hurt the ones that survived. He watched and screamed and felt it all even though it wasn’t him in control. 

He can’t take anymore. Can’t take the memories. The nightmares. The hollow feeling eating him whole. 

He can’t. 

He’s got nothing left. 

He finds himself at the stream that winds its way through the preserve. This section of it quickly becomes choked with brush and dense foliage if you try to follow the bank, and that’s the part he wants to go to. He came out here as a kid. Found a nice place to watch the water that he could be alone and his dad wouldn’t find him. 

It’s been years but he finds it easily enough, only slipping in the mud once as he hedged the banks to get to his destination. There’s a small clear area where a tree had fallen back away from the stream, it’s roots long since rotted away, leaving a perfect clear area to crawl into the hollow of the old tree and be out of sight. 

It’s just big enough for Stiles to fit into still. Feeling dark and safe and secluded. 

He watches the water move slowly down stream, sunlight glinting off it where it’s just started to rise. It’s only just started to rise. He got to the preserve when it was still dark. Hadn’t left the house until after his dad was home from work and sound asleep in his bed. 

The weight of the folded knife in his pocket is the only thing that’s allowed him to remain calm lately. It’s one he bought a while ago to keep in his glove box. He’s never used it for anything, but he knows it’s sharp still. 

Letting out a slow breath he reaches into his pocket, long fingers wrapping around the metal. One side is warm from pressing around his leg, while the other is chilled from facing out towards the cold air that seeped through the denim of is jeans. He lets is fingers run over the outside of the knife a few times, feeling the smooth texture on one side and the raised edge of the clip on the other. 

He pulls it out once he feels ready. 

He rucks up his sleeves and opens the blade with a click that seems to echo in the relative silence of the dawn. Sound carrying out over the water and into the still darkened preserve. He turns it, sees how the low sunlight glints off it. And then he brings it to his left wrist. 

He’s surprised by how stead his hand is and how little it actually stings as he makes the first cut. A long line down his wrist that he thinks mostly follows the vein. He lets out a shaky breath as he makes it, the voice in the back of his mind that has constantly pushed his mistakes and failures back at him since this whole mess began going silence at last. 

A small laugh escapes his lips as he watches the red seep from his wrist and run down his arm. Normally, he would be nauseated and on the verge of fainting. Instead he feels relief at the sight. 

It’s a little difficult to make the cut on his other wrist. If only for the way his fingers slip against the metal where blood has run down his left hand. 

Once he’s finished, he drops the knife on the ground in front of his crossed legs and lets his head fall back to rest against the remains of the old tree he’s crawled under, eyes slipping closed. 

The sting in his skin fades quickly, cold seeping into his body as his mind grows foggy. 

He’s just about to slip from consciousness into oblivion when he hears a distant sound. Like a voice. Calling his name. Brain fuzzy, he thinks it might sound like Derek. He hopes he sees him again someday. He’d like to see that face again. Just once. 

He’s weightless. The last thing he feels is something like strong, warm arms wrapping around him and pulling him close to a warm body. He smiles weakly just before he slips into the darkness. 

There’s a beeping. Slow but steady, and annoying. Stiles, wondering why there’s a beeping, tries to get his addled mind to focus. He’s dead. He killed himself. Why the hell would the afterlife have that obnoxious beeping... 

And why does he feel so hot. He’d been so cold before, and now he feels like he’s on fire... 

Slowly, he blinks open blurry amber eyes to find he’s not in the woods, not by the river. Hell, he was hoping to be in his home if anything. With his mom and grandparents. This.. This is not what he expected. 

It’s only then that he realizes he’s not alone. There’s a body slumped over in a chair so the person is resting with their arms and head beside Stiles’ leg. Their hand holding his on that side. 

He blinks a few times ,realizing it’s Derek. Derek. Who’s voice he thought he heard before... 

Derek grumbles before raising his head and blinking unfocused green eyes open, he looks at Stiles a moment before it seems to click that the human is awake. Then in a blink he’s up and had Stiles pulled up and forward into a hug, both of the wolves arms around the humans shoulders to support his full weight. 

It’s then that Stiles realizes that his wrists are bandaged and in soft restraints to keep him from raising them more than a few inches. 

“I thought I lost you,” Derek murmurs into Stiles’ neck. 

The words are unexpected, and Stiles fees a deep ache in his chest at the emotion behind them. He lets himself sag against Derek, not sure how else to react. “How did...” He starts to ask in a small voice, not sure he wants the answer. 

“I was out running.” Derek explains, keeping his voice low, like he’s afraid to raise it. 

Stiles doesn’t need to know any more than that. Of course that’s his luck. He’s such a screw up he can’t even get killing himself right. 

Derek suddenly pulls back, holding Stiles by his shoulders. There’s worry in his eyes. Stiles realizes then that he’s got tears in his own. The wolf lets one hand slip up from Stiles’ shoulder, over his neck up to settle on his cheek. He wipes the first tear to fall away with his thumb and gives Stiles a sad smile. 

“It’s going to be alright, Stiles. You’ll get through this. I’ll help you get through this.” His words are so earnest and resolute, green eyes showing he believes everything he says. 

Stiles chokes on a sob, fresh tears rushing to his eyes. Derek pulls him into another hug and he cries all the harder for it. He doesn’t think he believes Derek, he hurts too much. Being here hurts too much. But he appreciates the faith Derek has regardless.

**Author's Note:**

> I AM IN A ANGSTY DEPRESSIVE EPISODE AND I MAKE NO APOLOGIES FOR TORTURING MY CHILDREN. See you next time.
> 
>  
> 
> Feel free to [Check out my Tumblr](https://meteora-writes.tumblr.com) for story update schedules and other info <3


End file.
